


you'll always paint my sky

by mapped



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Reconciliation, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 20:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10601859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mapped/pseuds/mapped
Summary: She still loves Max, and it gets harder and harder to deny it to herself.(Anne through the second half of S4.)





	

“Get the fuck out,” she tells Max, and Max leaves.

She should be satisfied, but all she can think of is that the first time she ever told Max to get the fuck out, Max hadn’t. Max had stayed, even with a knife to her throat. Max had stayed, and—kissed her.

Christ, does she ever wanna shout Max’s name, call her back just so she can put a knife to her throat again, right now, and see what she makes of it this time.

* * *

She can feel it getting colder as they head up north. She’s in so much pain all the time and it’s so cold and she ain’t been this cold since England. Since Jack killed her nasty fuck of a husband whose blood probably still stains some tavern floor. She’d forgotten what it was like to be cold, and she’d forgotten what it was like to be in this much pain. There’s some comfort in knowing she’s been through this before and she came out of it alive the last time. But when she slips in and out of sleep, the pain confuses everything. It’s like she’s back in England again and she can’t tell the past from the present. All the old scars on her back are waking up, the long lips of ruined flesh growing teeth and smiling at her like her husband used to, like all men do when they’re about to hurt you real bad.

Everything’s glass shards. The memories slicing through her mind, sharp and glittering. The old and the new, shattered into bits that all look the same. All of it broken, all of it pain.

She thinks about Max’s soft, warm hands. Her own hands afire, burning so much she’s surprised they don’t fucking light up like lamps in the dark. She thinks about Max’s gentle smile. The sort of smile that doesn’t ask anything of you, but just is. She thinks about the way Max used to touch her. Nothing like glass shards. More like water. Something liquid, something that flows on and on and can’t be broken.

Except it is. It’s broken. And she can’t get it back. It’s in a pile with all the other glass-shard memories. Everything that’s ever hurt her, cut her open and left her bleeding.

But when Jack says to her, “You’ll have plenty of time to murder her another day,” she already knows she doesn’t wanna murder Max, and Jack knows, too. She just wants. She wants Max here with her. She’s cold and she’s hurting and she wants Max here. She ain’t about to say it out loud, though. But she imagines it. Max, swinging in another hammock next to her. Just Max’s quiet breathing in the night, getting her through the pain. She wouldn’t need anything else. Just that.

* * *

There’s a good chance Jack ain’t coming back from his attempt to kill Flint. She knows that. Thinking about being in a world without Jack is just—

She’d be like a ship without a crew. Just a ghost ship, drifting.

She doesn’t like to think about it, but she’s got to prepare herself for the eventuality. If Jack ain’t gonna come back, then what’s the point of her staying here any longer? She could just. Go. Start a new life somewhere. Her hands’ll be scarred, and the scars on her back ain’t going away either, but maybe she can still pretend to be someone else.

She stares at the list of ships that Idelle gave her, that flimsy sheet of paper that holds all her possible futures.

But what if Jack does come back, and she’s gone?

He’d find her, somehow. She’d leave a message with Idelle.

But then she thinks about Max. Max, changing her dressings every day. Apologising when she couldn’t be there because of meetings. Max just carefully unwinding the strips of tacky cloth from her hands. Cleaning her hands. Talking about their future.

 _All men betray when it suits them._ She’d said that, once, but she’d thought that maybe Max would be the woman who would never betray her. She’d trusted Max. And then Max had lied to her face while Jack was getting carted off to the Spanish to his death. Everyone in this world is the same. Man or woman. Anne ain’t ever met anyone who’s always stayed true.

But she also remembers Max protecting her. Max holding her hand. Max listening to her tell her story.

When Max ain’t here, she can’t think about anything else apart from how much she wants Max to be here. When Max is here, all she can think about is how angry she is.

No, that ain’t the whole truth. When Max is here, she’s also thinking about how Max wears her hair differently here, so that her ears are showing. And Anne can’t stop thinking about those ears. How there was a time when she would have just been able to lean over and kiss the tips of those ears if she wanted.

It’s all such a mess in her head. It was simple, for a while, after they got the gold. She could just be with Max, and she could see Jack too. She’d never felt so much peace in her life. This future that Max is talking about—it could be like that again.

She could stay. At least until Jack comes back. She could stay and keep thinking about it and see if it clears up any.

It’s getting late. She’s hungry, and Max should be back soon. She watches out the window for Max. She doesn’t like looking out the window here. It reminds her too much of England, all the proper stone and brick buildings and the snow. Fucking street lamps, too. Not like Nassau where everything’s just wild enough that she can forget anyone ever tried to tame her. But she looks out the window anyway.

And she sees Max, being dropped off from a carriage. Max stands out in her orange dress, a torch in the night. Anne expects her to come inside, but Max just sits down on a bench and doesn’t move.

What the fuck is Max doing out there in the snow on her own?

Anne waits. And waits. And then she wraps her blanket around herself and walks outside.

* * *

Nobody’s ever talked about her the way Max did just now. Nobody’s ever told her that she’s important, or brave, or true. She knows Jack loves her and cares about her, but he ain’t ever expressed it the way Max just did. Anne had never realised that she needed to hear this sort of stuff from anyone. And Max has just turned down everything she’d worked so hard for even though she ain’t got no guarantee that Anne would ever want to have anything to do with her again, all because Anne is so important to her.

Anne reaches out for Max’s hand, covering it lightly with her own.

The two of them. They’ll never have husbands. 

Anne suddenly hears Jack’s voice in her mind, the way he used to call Max her husband. She didn’t like it at the time. But she’d wondered what Max might think of Anne being her wife. Maybe she’ll get to find out, one day.

“You ever seen the snow before we came here?” she asks.

“No,” Max says. “I do not like how cold it is, but the snow is beautiful. I am glad I got to see it, if nothing else.”

Anne ain’t ever thought of the snow as beautiful before. Or if she did once, as a child, she doesn’t remember. She looks at it now, feels the tiny flakes of it land on her cheeks and melt. The silence of it.

They keep sitting out here, their hands touching, and Anne thinks the snow is pretty beautiful after all.

When they go inside, Max takes off her dark cape. She’s so striking in that orange dress, Anne just can’t look away. She’s like one of those bright silky foxes Anne used to see in England that darted around like flashes of fire, with their ears pointing straight up.

Idelle brings them hot soup, and Max helps Anne eat it, since Anne still has trouble holding a spoon. It takes away some of the chill from sitting outside for so long, and she’s especially warmed by the way Max looks at her the whole time while she’s feeding her each spoonful of soup. Even Max’s eyes are rich with golden colour, like a fox’s. 

Afterwards, Max makes to leave, but Anne brushes the back of her hand against Max’s shoulder. “Don’t go. It’s cold without you.”

Max blinks at her. Anne taps the space beside her on the mattress with her elbow, and Max hesitates for only a second.

Anne watches Max undress, and she’s sorry her hands are so useless right now, but watching Max makes her feel calm like a ship in port. She ain’t seen this in so long, all of Max’s fancy layers coming off. She watches Max unpin her hair and shake her curls loose. She watches Max take off her necklace and earrings. 

When Max is just in her white shift, she lies down next to Anne. Anne turns so she’s got her back to Max, and Max wraps her arm around Anne’s waist and pulls the blankets up over both of them.

It finally doesn’t feel like she’s in England anymore. She’s back in Nassau, in Max’s bed. Now she just needs all the noises of the inn, the sounds of people fucking and moaning in the rooms next to her, to make her feel at home.

“What are you thinking about?” Max asks. Anne can feel the heat of Max’s body all along her back.

“You were right,” Anne says. “Turns out I don’t ever wanna live anywhere that’s not your shitty room at the inn either.”

There’s no answer. Anne thinks Max might be crying again.

And then Max is stroking her hair, and Anne just lets herself enjoy this, this feeling of being closer to Max than they’ve been in months, and Max’s hand in her hair, Max’s arm snug around her waist. Max’s quiet breathing in the night.

* * *

Jack comes back.

Jack comes _back_.

And soon they’re off, back to Nassau.

When they arrive, Max says to Anne, “If you are to be a pirate again, there is something you will need. Come with me.”

Anne follows Max to her room at the inn. It still looks the same as it’s always done, still smells the same.

Max opens one of her chests, and takes out a floppy brown hat.

“You kept it?” Anne asks, shocked.

“In my life I have barely owned anything of sentimental value, worth keeping,” Max says. “This is one of the few things. But seeing as you no longer have your grey hat that we bought together, I thought it best to return this one to you.” She holds it out to Anne in both hands.

Anne takes it. She ain’t ever even noticed just how ratty it looks until now. It’s a fucking miracle it ain’t fallen to pieces already. She’d had it for years and years. She runs her hands over the worn leather, and then she slings it on top of her head. She feels better instantly, more like herself. Less naked.

“I can’t believe you kept it,” she says.

“I liked having something to remember you by even when we were separated,” Max says. She smiles, weirdly brittle. “We should go. There are so many things to organise and arrange. I am going to be a busier woman than ever before.”

“Yeah,” Anne says. “But we’re coming back here tonight, right?”

Max stills, on her way out the door. Anne can see her hands trembling.

“I mean, you’re still planning on living here, ain’t you?” Anne asks.

“Yes,” Max says, turning to face Anne again. “I have no desire to live anywhere else.”

“Well then,” Anne says. “I’m living here as well. With you.”

Max just keeps looking at Anne, and then she bursts into a little sob and flings her arms around Anne. Anne laughs. It’s a delight to see Max so emotional. Max was never like this before. She was always so—restrained. Poised. Anne likes this Max better.

She touches her hand to the bare skin on the back of Max’s neck, and Max shudders. She leans back away from Anne to look at Anne with those big hopeful eyes, and Anne can’t help herself anymore. She kisses Max, tasting a future that’s as open and wide as the sea, and Max’s hands come up to caress her cheeks, soft as snowflakes. _Fuck_ , she’s missed this.

“Mon amour,” Max whispers, still looking absolutely stunned, her eyes shining, her hands cradling Anne’s face.

Anne feels safe and held and whole. “I told you I wanted to live here,” she says. And she does. She wants to sleep here with Max every night when she’s on land. She wants to hear Max’s quiet breathing in the night as often as she can. For the rest of her life.

“I was not sure if you had changed your mind, or if you truly meant it,” Max says. She takes one of Anne’s hands and kisses the map of scars on her palm. It makes Anne feel all funny, like she’s so happy it almost doesn’t make sense to her.

“You said it yourself, didn’t you?” she says, tucking a black curl of Max’s hair behind her ear. “I’m the truest person you’ve ever known.”

She kisses the tip of Max’s ear, and all the glass shards of her past just clean melt away. She’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Hayley Kiyoko - 'Palace'.
> 
> Comments are really appreciated! <3 Come find me on [tumblr](http://reluming.tumblr.com/) where I'm still not over that beautiful scene in 4x08.


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